


Going My Way?

by FictionPenned



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Conversations in Mundane Liminal Spaces, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28882623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionPenned/pseuds/FictionPenned
Summary: Villanelle puts her packet of chips aside and leans forward until there is hardly an inch of space left between the two of them. Eve feels Villanelle's breath trickle across her face -- sweet and warm and teasing -- and the smell of the woman's perfume envelops her, dominates her, intoxicates her.The pink tip of Villanelle's tongue works at the point of a single tooth as she sweeps her bright eyes over Eve. It is a slow and deliberate appraisal, lingering in all the right places."Do you want to come with me?"Written for Bulletproof 2021
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18
Collections: Bulletproof 20/21





	Going My Way?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kimaracretak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/gifts).



The chips were Eve's idea. 

She grabbed one pack for each of them from a nearby stand -- mouth watering at both the smell and the grease that seeps through the paper -- and settled in to wait for Villanelle on a bench in the middle of a busy train station. 

It's a good bench, insofar as benches go. It has a view of the tracks and a nameplate made out to a guy that died twenty years ago, and, most importantly, it's the sort of place that is private enough for conversation but public enough that they are unlikely to be given a second glance by any strangers that pass by. 

Being a murderer has made Eve paranoid. 

She doesn't know how Villanelle manages it. 

A few weeks ago, Eve might have chalked it up to a certain degree of heartlessness, but at this point, she's seen too many other sides of the assassin to truly believe that Villanelle is as selfish and unfeeling as she initially seemed. There is something about the shock of suddenly being protected and loved that has opened Eve's mind to other possibilities regarding Villanelle's role not only in the context of the world at large, but within her own life. 

Expensive shoes click on the concrete, dragging Eve away from her thoughts and back into the present moment as Villanelle settles into the empty seat beside her in a puff of orange feathers and expensive fabric. 

"Chips?" Eve offers, holding out the extra bag. 

"Thanks." Villanelle's accent curls against the word, coaxing it into a more seductive sound than it has any right to be. 

Eve attempts to cover for the shiver of desire that suddenly drowns her heart and floods her veins by shoving several chips into her mouth at once.

"So what did you want to talk about?"

Villanelle leans back against the bench with a frustrated huff, nibbling at the corner of a single chip with absent-minded intensity. 

"I'm thinking about leaving. I don't think England is for me." The assassin trails off thoughtfully as she licks a stray crystal of salt from her bottom lip. "Might be easier to hide somewhere else for a while."

Eve jolts forward in surprise, accidentally spilling half of her food on the ground. "Where?" 

Villanelle eyes Eve out of the corner of her gaze, the tiniest hint of a smirk working its way across her delicate features. "I don't know. America, maybe. Or Australia. Somewhere big."

Eve's heart races and her mind buzzes. Not only is she worried about what might happen if the Twelve crashed down around her ears and Villanelle wasn't there to save her, she's grown rather fond of the woman's company. 

Despite the fact that it often threatens to bring her life to a premature close, Eve likes the little dance that they do together.

She's addicted to Villanelle -- to the glamor, the violence, the sex -- and she's not ready to let her go. 

Eve needs her.

"When? For how long?" 

Villanelle shrugs, and the feathers on her coat breach the space between them, tickling the side of Eve's face. "Not sure. Depends, really. Would be nice to get a job. A real job. Something decent but not too decent, you know?" 

"I --" The sound dies in Eve's throat as she realizes that she doesn't possess the right words to voice her protest properly. Though she generally is not concerned about losing her dignity, she is somewhat ashamed to admit that she doesn't want Villanelle to leave. It would mean giving into the darkness that lurks inside her, fanning the flames, letting it spread. 

A flush sweeps across the back of her neck, coloring her ears and creeping across her scalp. 

Villanelle puts her packet of chips aside and leans forward until there is hardly an inch of space left between the two of them. Eve feels Villanelle's breath trickle across her face -- sweet and warm and teasing -- and the smell of the woman's perfume envelops her, dominates her, intoxicates her. 

The pink tip of Villanelle's tongue works at the point of a single tooth as she sweeps her bright eyes over Eve. It is a slow and deliberate appraisal, lingering in all the right places. 

"Do you want to come with me?" 

Eve stammers and stutters, thinking of the mess that such a move would cause, but she is too deep in this love to avoid drowning in it. 

"Yes," she says, even though fear and logic beg her to say no. 

A train rushes by, catching them in its wind, and Villanelle plants a single kiss on Eve's neck -- calculated, impish, tantalizing -- and whispers words of praise against the hollow of her throat. 

Still, the commuters and the travelers on the platform pay the pair no mind. 

In this place and this place alone, they are invisible. 


End file.
